Somebody's Darling, page 1
SOMEBODY’S DARLING
LINDA FAUSNET
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Wait! Before you go!
Attention Romance Novel Fans!
Acknowledgments
To my daughter, Celia, who enjoys a handsome hero as much as her mother. Someday you’ll be old enough to read this book….
My books contain steamy sex, bad words, and human beings of all sorts, include gay people. If you’re not a fan of those things, you may want to stop reading now. If you’re cool with that stuff, come take my hand and join me on this journey…
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Published by Wannabe Pride 2016
Editing by Katriena Knights
Cover Design by Chuck DeKett
FIRST EDITION.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015919166
Created with Vellum
1
The living don't realize the dead walk amongst them.
On this warm evening in April, the dead were sitting on the steps outside Hunt’s Battlefield Fries on Steinwehr Avenue in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. Though they could choose to be invisible to the living whenever they liked, right now Jesse Spenser of the First Texas Infantry and Fillis Mungin, a runaway slave from Virginia, were content to have the tourists see them plainly.
Though their clothing would have looked bizarre anywhere else, the two were taken for reenactors or tour guides. Jesse wore, or at least appeared to wear, gray wool pants, a white cotton shirt with suspenders, and a brown slouch hat. Fillis wore a long, pale blue cotton dress. Their clothing fit in perfectly in the historic town of Gettysburg.
Jesse never failed to attract attention from the female tourists, as many women loved a man in uniform. He had brown hair that had grown just long enough to start to curl and warm, blue-gray eyes that added to his allure. He never thought of himself as attractive, though. He was just a poor farm boy from Texas.
A dead farm boy from Texas.
He had died on the second day of the famed battle of Gettysburg more than one hundred and fifty years ago. Even if he did turn a woman’s head, it would do her no good. She wouldn’t even be able to touch him. That didn’t stop him from flirting, though. Having human interaction like that made him feel alive again.
A group of teenage girls walked by, and one of them made eye contact with Jesse. He nodded his head and said, “Ma’am,” in greeting. The girls giggled and blushed. Jesse’s accent and Southern manners never failed to charm the ladies. He thought it a shame that people seemed to have abandoned such old-fashioned ways, especially here in Yankee country.
Jesse also thought it somewhat shameful the way some of these young girls dressed nowadays. Not that he wanted women to go back to dressing the way they did when he was alive, pretty much covered from head to toe, but there had to be some kind of happy medium. Girls had such terrible role models these days; people like those awful Kardashians. Dreadful. Whatever happened to classy women like Lauren Bacall and Audrey Hepburn? Jesse had seen it all through the years. Times had certainly changed.
A ghostly Union soldier walked by and nodded to Jesse, who nodded back. The Yankee was currently invisible to the living. Jesse could tell because the soldier’s image was transparent. He could see the soldier, but he could also see through him. The vast majority of spirits chose this path—to walk unseen among the living.
Jesse chose to be visible more often than most spirits because he felt lonely when no one but other ghosts could see him. Still, there was always the risk of frightening people. How he hated when a woman would shriek with terror when he was careless about when and how he disappeared, or when one of them would accidentally bump into him and feel a wisp of frigid cold instead of warm flesh. It hurt so much when a pretty lady’s expression turned to horror at the sight of him. Worse still were the children. Jesse’s ghostly heart ached when he remembered the handful of times he had inadvertently frightened a child. He loved children dearly and couldn’t bear the thought of becoming the subject of their nightmares when all he wanted to do was play with them for a little while.
Another Yankee drifted by, nodding at him. Jesse was on good terms with most Union soldiers around these parts. So many years had passed since the Civil War had ended, and most Yanks and Rebs got along now that everyone was dead. Though many of the deceased soldiers had gone on to heaven or wherever they were supposed to go, there were a fair number still left behind wandering the battlefields and the town of Gettysburg. It was a lonely existence for sure, so there was no sense in remaining enemies when there were few friends to be found. Jesse’s friendship with Fillis would have been quite odd back when they were still alive. Jesse, a Rebel fighting for the South, and Fillis, a runaway slave.
Fillis, who had died in her fifties just before the battle of Gettysburg, adored Jesse. She was like an adoptive mother to many of the soldiers who sought her counsel and comfort. She referred to herself as their “Second Mama,” not wanting to take anything away from their real mothers, who had died long ago. Jesse was Southern through and through and would always remain loyal to his beloved Texas, having taken up arms to defend his home and family. In death, he’d become close with Fillis and had learned the truth about the horrors of slavery.
“Mmmm. My, my, my…” Fillis muttered as she watched an attractive woman in a low-cut blouse walk by. Jesse chuckled softly. That was one thing the black woman and the white soldier had in common.
Girl watching.
They both missed the physical companionship of women, that was for sure. Fillis had far more actual experience with that sort of thing than Jesse had. She had lived on a plantation in Virginia until the master of the house discovered Fillis’s indiscretion with his wife. Fillis had run away and had died of tuberculosis not long before the great battle.
Jesse was still a virgin when he died. There were a handful of women back home that his parents had hoped he might marry, but there was no one who really took his fancy. It had been hard for him during those long nights at camp knowing he had no sweetheart back home waiting for him. Though he would never have wished to cause some poor woman suffering and mourning, it still hurt sometimes to know that there had been no girl thinking of him as he lay cold and dead on the rocks of Devil’s Den.
Though he had no physical heart anymore, he still felt a horrible ache in his chest when he thought of his mother getting the news of his death. Perhaps it was for the best that he had no other love waiting for his return.
Still, it annoyed him that he’d died before he’d ever been with a woman. He’d had many opportunities while he was a soldier. Prostitutes were not hard to come by, but he never regretted passing them up. Even now that he was dead, he fantasized about what it would feel like to make love to a woman, but he still couldn’t imagine being so intimate with a stranger.
The streets were crowded tonight. That was how Jesse knew the weather must be warm and comfortable. He could hardly remember what it felt like to be cold or hot anymore. He wished he could smell the fresh air as he watched the people walking by. Yankees and Confederates in uniform were scattered on the streets here and there; some were real, dead soldiers and some were living people in costumes. Jesse was amazed at how seriously some of the reenactors took their duties as pretend soldiers. When a ghost opted to remain fully visible, as Jesse was now, it was hard to tell who was alive or dead. Jesse could usually tell a real soldier when he looked into his eyes and saw the weary, haunted look of someone who’d been wandering around for a century and a half.
Though most of the restless soldiers who still drifted through the streets and battlefields got along well or were at least civil to one another, there was one feud that had never died. Jesse’s eyes narrowed when he spied his archenemy, Joel Casey of the 124th New York Infantry, walking toward them. Jesse hadn’t seen him for quite some time and he’d been hoping the Yank had finally crossed over.
“YEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW!” Jesse let loose with a fierce Rebel Yell. He ignored the odd looks from tourists while he savored Joel’s gut reaction of visible terror.
Jesse relished the way that sound still seemed to make Joel’s blood run cold even though he no longer had blood in him. That sound was so frequently a prelude to slaughter on the battlefield that it wa
“Good to see you, baby. Where you been?” Fillis asked, greeting Joel far more warmly than his nemesis had. There was a hint of disappointment in her eyes, and Jesse knew she had also hoped he had crossed over. Fillis loved Joel as much as she loved Jesse. She had died in Gettysburg shortly before the battle and had witnessed the three-day ordeal as she wandered around in spirit form. She had a tender spot in her heart for all those boys who fought and died that day.
Ignoring Jesse, Joel smiled at Fillis. Joel was even more dashing in uniform than Jesse. He wore a dark blue, four-button wool coat and blue wool pants. He had light blond hair, and the color of his Yankee uniform set off the blue in his eyes, giving them a startlingly bright look. It was not uncommon for a woman to forget what she was saying when she turned and looked into those eyes.
“I just, you know, needed a break for a bit,” Joel told her. Fillis nodded, understanding. It was not uncommon for a ghost to disappear for a time. Vanishing was what they called it. Vanishing was different than simply being invisible. Invisible meant you were still hanging around, but only other spirits could see you. Vanishing meant you were not conscious. It was kind of like a ghost’s form of sleep. It would be simply unbearable to be endlessly conscious all night and all day for decades, even centuries, at a time. Spirits could fade away for a bit and then come back after they’d rested for a while.
Unless they crossed over to the other side. Then they didn’t come back. Jesse had known many spirits who had crossed over. He’d actually seen it happen a couple of times. A bright portal appeared when you were ready to move on. Sometimes you could tell when someone’s time was coming near. Jesse remembered a soldier who was eighteen years old, a baby really, when he died on the Wheatfield on the second day of the battle. A member of the famed Irish Brigade, his name was Daniel Sheehan. In the days leading up to his crossing over, he seemed calm, tranquil. Something in him had changed, and he was finally ready to go. Off in the distance on the same part of the battlefield where Daniel had died, Jesse saw the young boy’s portal open, and then he was gone. He was a good kid. Jesse missed him.
Jesse wished a portal that led to the extreme Deep South would open up and swallow Joel, and he told him so. “Thought mebbe you’d finally gone down to hell where you belong,” Jesse informed him, his strong Texas accent becoming even more pronounced when he was angry. Known as the Immortal Enemies, all the ghosts in Gettysburg knew that Joel and Jesse couldn't stand the sight of each other.
“Well, it wouldn’t be hell without you there, Secesh,” Joel said, shooting Jesse a steely glare.
“Boys…” Fillis admonished gently. She hated when they fought, which was constantly.
“Mudsill,” Jesse muttered.
“Traitor!” Joel shot back. A few of the tourists stopped to watch, thinking their bickering was part of some reenactor show. Johnny Reb vs. Billy Yank. “Bunch of pansy-ass, stupid hicks. All of ya.”
“My stupid hicks beat the tar out of your delicate lil’ Orange Blossoms,” Jesse said. Joel’s regiment had been nicknamed the Orange Blossoms because most of them came from Orange County, New York.
“Yeah?” Joel said, blue eyes blazing. He jerked his head toward an American flag that was flying just above his head at one of the souvenir shops. “Which flag do you see flying now?”
Jesse’s reaction to the word “flag” was as pained and full of horror as Joel’s had been when he’d heard Jesse’s eerie Rebel Yell.
“Joel!” Fillis said sharply, shooting him a warning look that said he’d gone too far. She quietly added, “That’s enough out of both of you.”
“Sorry, Fillis,” the boys said in unison, like two brothers who were in trouble with Mom for fighting.
“Good to have you back, honey,” Fillis told Joel. Jesse sneered at him, but stayed silent for Fillis’s sake.
“Thanks, Second Mama. Missed you, too,” Joel said. He took a seat next to her on the steps.
“See ya later, Fillis,” Jesse said as he got up. He could only be civil with Joel for so long, so he figured it best to leave. Fillis’s sad expression pained him, but he couldn’t stand to be near that filthy Yank a moment longer. One of the worst things about being a ghost was that he couldn’t punch Joel’s lights out. That was the one thing the two soldiers could agree on. They would give just about anything to finally be able to beat the living—or dying—crap out of each other.
As Jesse wandered off down the street, he decided to vanish. He’d disappear for a short while, just until the next afternoon when he could see one of the few bright spots of his dreary existence.
His beloved Lucy Westbrook.
2
Jesse drifted through the town of Gettysburg, slowly but not aimlessly. He was headed to pay a silent visit to the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. He had time, though, since Lucy’s shift didn’t start for another half hour.
Currently invisible, he was free to wander anywhere he liked. He watched the tourists and residents of the town as he glided. He suddenly stopped short when he caught sight of an older woman with her gray hair pulled back into a loose bun. A bolt of irrational hope coursed through him. Mother.
Jesse felt stupid as he watched the woman walk past him. Of course it wasn’t his mother. She had to have died more than a hundred years ago, miles and miles away in Texas. Still, he was quite shaken up. The resemblance was so strong—at least from a distance.
Jesse pictured his loving mother with her gray hair pulled back, wearing a worn, cotton dress. She’d been weeping the last time he saw her. It was the summer of 1861 when he left for battle. Jesse was her only child. After he was born, she was never able to have another. His father was old and sick, and Jesse had always wondered how long the man had survived after Jesse left to fight for the Confederacy. The thought of his mother being left alone was unbearable.
Fortunately, there had been lots of cousins nearby to help with their small farm, but Jesse knew no one could replace him in his mother’s heart. Even after all this time, Jesse missed his mama. Fresh guilt surged within him as he wondered for the millionth time if he’d made a mistake in joining the war effort, thus destroying his precious mother’s whole world.
Jesse shook off the sad memories and tried to focus on happier thoughts, and there was no happier thought for him than lovely Lucy. She worked at Meade’s Tavern, a bar and grill that Jesse had avoided for years, mostly due to its name and theme. Who needed to see artwork of General Meade and all those other Yanks all over the place? Then one day while he was drifting around the town, aimless and invisible, he had seen a group of fifth-graders climb out of their school bus. Jesse loved when kids came to visit Gettysburg. He loved the sound of their laughter and enjoyed watching them play, fight, and tease each other. Jesse followed them into the restaurant and sat in the back to watch them.
It made him smile to see them horsing around and shooting at each other with those little pop guns they sold around here. He never really minded when kids joked about the battle. It was only natural for them to be curious about the blood and guts of the war. However, it bothered him when the older, punk kids reveled in the especially gruesome stories of the fight. They eagerly told horrible tales of bodies blown apart by cannonballs and entrails splattered on the fences. Those kids didn’t seem to understand that this wasn’t some fictional horror movie. Those body parts were all that was left of somebody’s child.
